I try really hard to find a balance between sharing my experiences and not being too revealing or overwhelming. I want to share what I'm going through, in hopes that it helps others who are facing a similar path...in hopes of reminding anyone reading, that you are stronger than you think. That God is there, no matter what you are facing. That kindness and hope and appreciation are beautiful things to have in your life. I also write to process what I've been through. I could write in a diary and tuck it away, but if it were me that was a friend or relative of someone going through this, I would want to know everything. Everything. And while I'm not afraid of writing everything, I am afraid of baring too much. There are some struggles, some pain, some fear that are just too personal. I went through something like that a few weeks ago. I've had weeks to process it (and have distance from it) but it's still something that I went through, and yet another way to empathize with people who are going through different situations.
After we discovered the 30% shrinkage of my lymph node tumors, Brad and I talked to my Oncologist about reducing the pain medication I'm on. I've been feeling really well, with not much more than my baseline pain bothering me. We felt it was time to see what my pain level is at now that those tumors and bone marrow aren't creating the high pressure and pain that they had in the beginning. We discussed the situation, got a prescription for a lower dosage of the pain patch I'm on, and headed back home.
That evening, after I showered, I noticed that the pain patch I had on (the higher dose) was coming off my back. They are supposed to last three days, but because I'd been feeling so well, we found that I could stretch it to at least four. I was due for a new patch, so I removed the old one from my back, decided I would keep it off to see what my pain level was at now, and went to bed.
A few hours later, I woke up, shaking, with a stomach ache, and exhausted but unable to sleep (which never happens to me!) The longer I was awake, the more odd and troubled I felt. My shaking got worse and I was consumed with an antsy, want to crawl-out-of-your-skin feeling that's really hard to describe, but it is easily one of the most horrible things I've ever felt. I wanted to scream and bounce around and pull out my hair. I settled for my rocking chair (so not to wake my entire family) and research.
I was awake for hours and it wasn't getting any better, indeed worse, but I had discovered what I believed was happening to me. I was in withdrawal. In the couple of months that I had been on the high-level pain medication, my body had grown accustomed to it. My quick removal of the patch (even though I had believed I had used up all of the medication in that patch) had brought to light the dependency my body had created for this. Logically, I could wrap my mind around it...I understood how and why it was happening. But that sure didn't make going through the withdrawal any easier.
It's hard to fully describe how dark those few days were for me. The best way I can portray it is by saying I literally wanted to crawl out of my skin. I felt like a completely different person. Weak. Emotional (well, that's the same...but I couldn't control the fear and sadness like I otherwise have been able to.) I felt so antsy, jittery, edgy that it was hard for me to sit still. I couldn't sleep for more than a couple of hours at a time. I literally had Brad sit down and hold me a few times. I cried. I pretended normalcy for my kids (Emily spent a couple days at Gene and Mary's so I could go through this, and hopefully find time to rest too, while the older two were at school.) There were a couple of times that I felt I was losing my mind. It took days to start feeling more like myself again.
After almost two days of symptoms, I talked with my Oncology team about it. Kelly, my nurse, and Julie, my Study Coordinator, God bless them, were the perfect balance of understanding, supporting, and mothering that I could have asked for. Obviously, they've seen this before. But it was unexpected (perhaps because I had pulled it off cold-turkey, instead of weaning myself to the lower patch. Dummy.) My body processes medication so oddly that it was hard to predict. And yet, in hindsight, it makes sense, because I was on that high-level of medication for so long. We discussed going back on the low-level pain patch. But, to be honest, I was afraid to. After everything I had gone through, I wasn't eager to jump right back into that pain medication.
After a couple more days I was able to get a feel for what my pain level is at now. It's definitely still there. I can bend over now, and walk with only a small limp. I can sit in a chair without needing a pillow under me, and I can move around fairly fluidly. But it still aches constantly, and when I turn on my sides during the night, the pain wakes me up. I ended up going back on the low-level medication to turn that pain down. It's completely counter-productive to everything we're trying to do with my body. If I'm experiencing high levels of pain, my body is busy responding to that instead of putting it's energy into fighting cancer. Even though I can feel the pain a bit more than on the higher-level patch, I feel great being on the low-level. I feel like me. And I want to save that higher level for when and if I really need it again.
So, if you know of someone who has gone through withdrawal, please understand the intense pain and agony that they have gone through. It's been eye-opening and humbling to experience just a little taste of what it must be like.
And, I want to make a special mention of Brad here. He could have looked at me and told me that I was being dramatic. He could have de-legitimized how I was feeling and how difficult it was...but he didn't. He hugged me. He encouraged me. He supported me. He read devotionals to me. He played video games with me (to get my mind off it), he listened to me process what I was going through, he wiped away my tears. This man helped me. He is amazing.
So, those dark days are behind me. But, like everything else I've been experiencing, they've become a part of me. I like to hope that they make me a more well-rounded person. But just remember...everyone is stronger than they think they are.
No comments:
Post a Comment